ond had still to tell him? He felt certain
it had something to do with Ruth, and probably Dare. Should he arrive in
time to hear it? There at last were the lights of D---- in front of him.
Should he arrive in time? As he pulled up his steaming horse before the
police-station his heart misgave him.

"Am I too late?" he asked of the man who came to the door.

He looked bewildered.

"Stephens! Is he dead?"

The man shook his head.

"They say he's a'most gone."

Charles threw the rein to him, and hurried in-doors. He met some one
coming out, the doctor probably, he thought afterwards, who took him
up-stairs, and sent away the old woman who was in attendance.

"I can't do anything more," he said, opening the door for him. "Wanted
elsewhere. Very good of you, I'm sure. Not much use, I'm afraid.
Good-night. I'll tell the old woman to be about."

A dim lamp was burning on the little corner cupboard near the door, and,
as Charles bent over the bed, he saw in a moment, even by that pale
light, that he was too late.

Life was still there, if that feeble tossing could be called life; but
all else was gone. Raymond's feet were already on the boundary of the
land where all things are forgotten; and, at the sight of that dim
country, memory, affrighted, had slipped away and left him.

Was it possible to recall him to himself even yet?

"Raymond," he said, in a low distinct voice, "what is it you wish to
say? Tell me quickly what it is."

But the long agony of farewell between body and soul had begun, and the
eyes that seemed to meet his with momentary recognition only looked at
him in anguish, seeking help and finding none, and wandered away again,
vainly searching for that which was not to be found.

Charles could do nothing, but he had not the heart to leave him to
struggle with death entirely alone, and so, in awed and helpless
compassion, he sat by him through one long hour after another, waiting
for the end which still delayed, his eyes wandering ever and anon from
the bed to the high grated window, or idly spelling out the different
names and disparaging remarks that previous occupants had scratched and
scrawled over the whitewashed walls.

And so the hours passed.

At last, all in a moment, the struggle ceased. The dying man vainly
tried to raise himself to meet what was coming, and Charles put his
strong arm round him and held him up. He knew that consciousness
sometimes returns at the moment of death.

"R